Psychiatric?
by ElfDrake
Summary: The Director of Torchwood sends Rose to the psychiatrist after another faked death. Why does the psychiatrist seem so familiar?


"Smith!" the Director of Torchwood demanded. The Director was fuming. Rose had yet again disobeyed direct orders and was already on probation. Yet, the Director couldn't do anything more than that except give another lecture.

Rose turned around, grinning. She found it hilarious when the Director was angry at it; the Director didn't like it when she got clever. The Director was not a fan of what happened when Rose was clever. Finally, Rose spoke, quirking an eyebrow. Rose was the top agents; the Director was not able to fire her. She was perfectly safe. Rose smirked, asking "What?" as if she had no idea what was wrong.

"You're still alive," the Director snapped, frowning. He fumbled through his pockets and finally found what he was looking for. He handed her a certificate.

Rose snatched the certificate from his hand and eyed it warily. A small grin spread across her face. She enjoyed this part of what happened after her returns. Actually, it was the highlight of her dull life. "Another death certificate you need me to dispose of?" Rose asked, a perfectly innocent expression on her face. Then she just rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

"Yes. Smith, report to psychiatric," the Director ordered, raising an eyebrow. He was not happy. Rose was once a responsible young woman, but after a tragedy had struck, she had become one of the most reckless people in Torchwood. Scratch that, _the _most reckless.

Rose sighed exaggeratedly, sweeping a couple of fingers through her hair. "Fine." She started down the hall, ripping the death certificate to shreds and stopping only to toss said shredded certificate into a garbage bin. She giggled slightly, skipping slightly through the hall. Someone was coming up behind her. Rose flattened herself against the wall, eyeing the figure warily.

After her prolonged journey to the psychiatric department, Rose slowly entered the room.

Waiting for her was a psychiatrist wearing tweed and a bowtie, grinning smugly at her. Rose fixed him with a contemptuous stare. She was not a fan of psychiatrists. "Hello," Rose sniffed grumpily. "Can we just bloody get this over with? I don't like psychiatrists." She had become ruder as she had become more and more reckless. And she had also gotten a lot cleverer.

The psychiatrist smirked. "Alright, suit yourself. We can get this over with, if you want to." The psychiatrist gave her a friendly smile. Rose raised her eyebrows at him. She was typically chastised when she came to this office.

Rose quirked an eyebrow thoughtfully. "You're new here."

"Why do you say that?" the psychiatrist retorted, raising his nonexistent eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You haven't gotten down to business right away," Rose laughed, leaning back in her chair. She rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat, leaning her head back. Her aura radiated her contempt for the place.

The psychiatrist coughed. "Right then. Business. Why have you faked your death fifty times since first beginning work at Torchwood, Rose Ty — Smith?"

Rose narrowed her eyes. "Real answer or funny answer? Doesn't matter. Let's say I'm brilliant, I have contacts, I'm bored, and I hate Torchwood."

"Your contact is a Nestene Consciousness," the psychiatrist mumbled, eyeing Rose's necklace. "You are brilliant."

"Thanks, Doctor," she replied, grinning. She stretched lazily, sitting upright in her chair.

The Doctor gaped, flustered. "How did you know?" He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"One) you made a retort. Two) you didn't get down to business hinting that you had quite the gob. Three) You almost called me Rose Tyler. Four) Only you would wear those clothes — although, I do like the bowtie. Five) You knew that I used a Nestene duplicate to fake my death. Six) You're eying the perception filter. Should I continue?"

"No, no need," the Doctor squeaked. He chanced a smile.

"Okay, I suppose you want to know where the hell I was for the last 57 days," Rose sighed, running a hand through her hand.

"You could start by taking off the perception filter," the Doctor replied.

Rose reluctantly pressed the button. Instantly, she looked completely different. Instead of blond hair, she had straight brown tresses. Instead of hazel eyes, green eyes. She was taller and lankier, and her face shape was more elongated. "Yeah. This is why. And for me, it hasn't been 57 days. It's been 366." She looked almost like a female version of this Doctor.

The Doctor's eyebrows skyrocketed, his mouth tumbling open. "You have timetravel."

"Again. Boredom. I made a timetravelling teleport. I spent an Earth-year on Mars in 200,100. Gathered a lot of history and stuff. That's what I always do. I have a secret library. If Mum found out. . ." Rose shuddered, rubbing her cheek. She usually got slapped when she returned from wherever she went. Her mum was no fan of her bad habit of faking her own death, especially since Rose claimed to do it only to get out of paperwork.

The Doctor laughed, wiggling his fingers in invitation. "Will you come back with me?"

Rose smiled, taking his hand. "Always and forever."


End file.
